


Sugar For My Honey (Remix of Something Sweet)

by Fullmetalcarer



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blow Jobs, Brief recollection of non-con, Car Sex, Charles You Slut, Erik is a Sweetheart, Flirting, Lolita!Charles, Lollipops, M/M, Poor Erik, Violence, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-11-28 20:32:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11425647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fullmetalcarer/pseuds/Fullmetalcarer
Summary: Charles is fifteen.  He has a huge crush on thirty plus Erik.  He has a lollipop and a plan.Erik is thirty plus.  His boss's fifteen year old son is going all out to seduce him.  But Erik can hold out.  Can't he?HAPPY LEGAL SEXY TIMESTM





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FuryRed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryRed/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Cherik Tumblr Drabbles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8891923) by [FuryRed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryRed/pseuds/FuryRed). 
  * In response to a prompt by [FuryRed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryRed/pseuds/FuryRed) in the [xmen_remix_madness2017](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/xmen_remix_madness2017) collection. 



> I plucked delectable sentences from Chapter 3 of Fury's "Cherik Tumblr Drabbles" like ripe cherries from a laden tree. I draped the shining fruit over the twigs of my remix (awkward metaphor is awkward).

Erik is lying under the Range Rover taking a look at the muffler - he'd thought it sounded noisy the other day - when a pair of pristine white Converse appear by his head. Fuck.

"Hi, Erik," says a posh, boyish voice.

Erik's tempted to stay put, but last time he'd ignored Charles the little fucker had accidentally-on-purpose spilt a whole can of oil over Erik's work bench. He rolls out from under the car and stands up.

When Kurt Marko had hired him to take care of his garage-full of expensive cars, Erik had thought Marko or his asshole son would be the worst thing about the job. He hadn't counted on Charles. It wasn't that Charles was a bad kid - he was smart and funny and kind and nowhere near as entitled as the rest of the family - but he was doing everything in his power to seduce Erik. If he'd been just a few years older, Erik would've let him. Charles was short, slim, dark haired, pale skinned and had the most amazing blue eyes Erik had ever seen. It was his mouth that was the killer. He had full, plump lips that were almost fuchsia in colour. But he was fifteen. Fifteen!

"I'll be sixteen in three months, Erik," he'd said, smiling that dazzling, dirty smile.

Erik is not a paedophile, he is not a child molester. He is not attracted to Charles Xavier and if he is, well, he's sure as shit not going to do anything about it.

Charles is wearing jeans so tight they must be cutting off his circulation. His crisp white shirt is unbuttoned almost to his navel. Erik gets a glimpse of a rosy red nipple and quickly looks up to Charles' face. This doesn't help. He's sucking on a fucking strawberry lollipop. Well, not that Erik knows it's strawberry, he just knows that it's red and the lips to which it's pressed are moist and flushed and . . . and maybe they taste like strawberries. No, no, no, don't think of that, don't think of kissing him.

The little monster gives him the sweetest, most innocent smile and pulls the lollipop from his mouth with a pop.

"What do you want, Charles?"

"Nothing. Just wanted to say hello."

The demon child flutters his eyelashes.

"Well, you've said hello, now I'm saying goodbye."

He pouts. His lips look a little sticky.

"Don't be like that, Erik. I'm bored."

"Go do your homework."

"Already done it."

Charles is top of the class in everything except art. He can barely draw a straight line.

"Then go play with your sister."

Charles gives him haughty look. Erik tries hard not to find it adorable.

"Raven and I are far too mature to "play". Besides, we're not speaking at the moment."

"Why's that?"

He looks genuinely upset for a moment, then covers it up with a charming smile.

"Oh, I don't know. All we seem to do is quarrel these days. Never mind Raven, I came to see you."

Erik suspects they quarrel because Raven has a massive crush on Charles and he is completely oblivious and flirts with anything that moves. They're not blood relatives, she's adopted.

"I'm working."

"You can take a break, can't you? You should have regular work breaks you know, health and safety and all that."

Charles starts tracing that damn lollipop around his mouth, sliding it over his plump lips in a circular motion, round and round and in and, oh, God, there's tongue now too, sliding out to eagerly lick up the side of the . . . fuck, this has to stop.

Erik steps into Charles' personal space. He clenches his fists and leans forward and sets his features in a cold, intimidating mask.

"You need to go away and stop bothering me," he says in a flat, dead tone.

Charles recoils, eyes widening in fear. Too late Erik remembers the bruises he's seen on his arms and the unconvincing explanation he'd given for them. Fuck those Markos.

"I'm sorry, Charles, I didn't mean to scare you, but I do have work to do."

"I wasn't scared," lies Charles, "I was just surprised. Can't I just sit and watch you work? I promise I won't be a nuisance. I'll be quiet as a mouse."

He makes a lip-zipping gesture. He looks small and young and unsure. Erik curses himself for an idiot and says, knowing he'll regret it:

"Fine. Sit there and shut up and stay put."

He gestures at the rickety, old chair in the corner. Charles smiles so bright it takes his breath away and plops down on the seat. Erik goes back to work. He's almost forgotten Charles is there, when a Converse clad foot nudges his shoulder. He rolls out, but doesn't get up. He looks up at Charles, who looks just as lovely from below as above. Erik imagines getting to his knees and putting his hands on Charles' slim hips - his hands would look big on that slender body - and pressing his face to Charles' denim covered cock and . . . stop, Lehnsherr, stop, he's a child, a child.

"What?" he snaps, thoroughly shaken.

Charles does his hurt face.

"I just thought you might like a drink."

He holds out a bottle of Coke.

"Oh. Right. Thanks. I am thirsty. Thanks, Charles."

He sits up and takes the cold, condensation covered bottle from Charles' hand. Charles makes sure their fingers touch as he hands it over. Erik always thought that thing about electricity between people was just static charge from walking on synthetic carpets. So how come he feels a thrill that shoots up his arm, down his chest and ends up in his groin?

He takes a long pull on the bottle. It's good. Sweet and fizzy and fresh from the fridge. Charles doesn't seem to have a drink.

"Where's yours?" asks Erik.

"Not thirsty. Anyway, I've got this."

He waves his lollipop in Erik's face then gives it a lick. Erik's eyes lock on Charles' mouth and tongue like a heat seeking missile on a hot engine. Charles meets his gaze. He kneels at Erik's side and raises the lollipop to his lips again, sliding it inside his mouth and raising his eyebrows suggestively at Erik. There a purposefulness in Charles' actions; in the way he tilts his face down but his eyes up so they're impossibly wide, in the way he draws the lollipop across his bottom lip ever so slowly, like he knows exactly what he's doing.

"Wouldn't you like some?" he whispers.

"Some what?" replies Erik, dazedly.

"Some of my lolly."

Charles taps the lollipop against Erik's lips. Almost without realising he's doing it, Erik gives it a lick. It's been inside Charles' mouth. He's sucked and nibbled on it. He's worked it with his tongue. Erik sucks the lollipop into his own mouth. It's strawberry flavoured. Charles' mouth would taste like this. Sucking the lollipop is almost like kissing him. Charles pulls the candy from Erik's lips and leans forward to replace it with his mouth.

His face goes out of focus and Erik feels a warm, delicate touch on his lips. Charles' lips are sugar-sweet and strawberry flavoured. He can smell him, sweat and soap. He can feel his body heat. Charles presses up against him, bony and soft and perfect. Erik's cock twitches. Everything in him is screaming "take him, take him". Erik puts his hands on Charles' shoulders and . . . pushes him away. Charles blinks like a bewildered kitten.

"Charles, this is wrong. You're underage. I'm old enough to be your father. Plus, this is illegal. Do you really want me to end up in jail?"

"No," says Charles in a tiny voice.

"I like you, Charles, I like you a lot, but this is wrong. I won't do it."

Charles sniffs and looks a little tearful.

"Hey, it's not like we're not friends any more. We are still friends, aren't we, Charles?"

He sighs and nods. Erik goes to hug him, decides this is a bad idea and pats him on the shoulder instead.

"Now, go read a book, or play a computer game, or send your friends a Twitter or something."

Charles laughs. "Oh, God, you really are old. It's a "tweet", grandpa."

Erik smacks him on the shoulder. Charles giggles.

"Friends?" says Erik, holding out his hand.

"Friends," says Charles.

They shake hands and part. Charles trots off, sucking his fucking lollipop. Erik thinks Charles may finally have understood and accepted the situation. He finishes off his Coke and rolls back under the Range Rover.

* * *

Charles sulks in his room for a while, but he has a naturally buoyant nature - just as well given mother, Kurt and Cain, Raven being the only bright spot in the gloom - and soon he's up and plotting.

He wore Mr Quested, his Spanish tutor, down eventually. Janos had been an education - hah - until Kurt had caught him giving Charles a practical demonstration of a certain Latin word. Janos had been almost impossibly handsome. Erik is beautiful too, but in an entirely different style, more worn, more rugged, more dangerous. 

Charles recalls how he'd first attracted his tutor's attention. He digs out his bright blue Speedos. He imagines walking down the driveway in nothing but the tiny trunks and flip-flops, with a towel slung over his shoulder. Erik's washing the cars. He imagines leaning on one of the cars, the E-Type, it's his favourite. The metal's hot from the sun, too hot on his bare skin. He flinches away. Erik turns the hose on him to cool the inflamed flesh, then sprays water all over him. Charles wrestles him for control of the hose. Erik gets soaked. His cheap, white teeshirt clings to him and turns transparent. Every muscle on his torso is perfectly delineated. Charles can see his brown nipples.

He's seen Erik with his shirt off. It's an amazing set of genes that gives him such broad shoulders and such a narrow waist. Charles is half hard just thinking about it. He cups his cock and smiles.

Yes, this is the ideal time for a trip to the pool via the garage.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite a few readers wanted me to continue this and the lovely FuryRed encouraged me, so, here it is!

Erik's working on the big ride-on mower. It died on the stretch of grass between the pool-house and the pool. In theory one of the gardening team should be able to fix it. In practice they're more horticulturally than mechanically minded. The gardener wandered off a while back. Erik thinks he's got to the heart of the problem and with a few more tweaks the mower should be running again.

There are footsteps behind him.

"I hate to break the news to you, Erik, but that's not a car."

He laughs before he can help himself and turns. Charles stands there in jeans and a too-big tee that's falling off one shoulder and with a rolled towel under one arm. His feet are bare and Erik's gaze is drawn to his pale, elegant toes. What would it be like to kiss those toes one by one? To draw one into his mouth and suck it like Charles had sucked that fucking lollipop? Shut up, Lehnsherr, shut up!

"Really? I thought it was the new Bugatti."

Charles giggles.

"You look hot. In every way. Why don't you join me for a swim?"

"Hmm, I don't know, Charles. Maybe because I don't want to get fired?"

Charles rolls his eyes.

"Details, details. Your loss."

He disappears into the pool-house. Erik should flee the field right now because he knows the boy is going to reappear in those obscene Speedos. But he's almost fixed the tractor and there's something stubborn in him that thinks, "Why the fuck should I run away?"

Sure enough, a few minutes later, Charles emerges in nothing but a scrap of turquoise Lycra. He's milky pale with freckles scattered over his shoulders, chest and arms. He's slim, bordering on skinny and hasn't got much muscle on his bones as yet. You can see that, in a few years, he's going to have strong shoulders and powerful thighs. Now he's all coltish limbs and delicate wrists and ankles. He's almost hairless, apart from the little stripe leading to his groin. He stops directly in front of Erik. His cock, covered in the thinnest of thin fabrics, is right at Erik's eye level. Erik quickly looks up and finds himself fixating on the matching colour of his nipples and lips.

"Sure you don't want to join me?"

"Some of us have work to do."

Charles makes an exasperated noise and wanders off to the pool chairs. Erik drags his eyes away from the sway of his narrow hips and his surprisingly plush ass. His ass cheeks aren't even half covered by the swim-trunks. One side has ridden up and the elastane has left a red line across a perfect, creamy buttock. Erik buries his face in the workings of the mower.

He's managing to concentrate quite well when he hears a click. He looks up, almost against his will. Charles is reclining on a pool chair under a big sun shade. He's just opened a bottle of sun screen. He pours a little into his palm and starts rubbing it into his legs, working his way leisurely up from his feet, to his ankles, calves, knees and thighs. He pays particular attention to his inner thighs, sliding his hands between his legs and making soft, little noises.

He turns his attention to his face. A dab on each cheek, one on his forehead, one on the tip of his nose, one on his chin. He massages the lotion in. A pale drop trembles on his lip. He makes a moue of distaste and wipes it away with his towel. He smears sun cream up and down his arms and over his shoulders. He squeezes the bottle and pearly lines spurt across his belly. He rubs it in, dragging his fingers over his nipples until they peak and harden. He rubs lower down his torso. His fingers dip under the waistband of his trunks. He gives a little gasp.

He looks up. Their eyes meet. He smiles like a newborn.

"You wouldn't do my back, would you?"

"Why do you even need to do your back? You're under an umbrella, for fuck's sake."

Charles pouts.

"I'm going in the pool. The water magnifies the UV. I'll burn like a lobster without protection. Please, Erik, please."

He looks at Erik with pleading eyes the colour of the sky above. As if hypnotised, Erik gets to his feet. He steps under the shade of the big umbrella. He takes the bottle from Charles, who gives him a smile of lamb-like innocence and turns over. Erik squeezes some lotion into his hand. He starts rubbing it into Charles' back. His skin is warm and as soft as silk. His freckles are like amber jewels on a bed of snow. He shifts a little under Erik's hands and makes a pleased noise. Erik's hands look massive and tanned and worn on his perfect skin. He can span his shoulders with them. He rubs lotion into the wings of his shoulder blades, down his spine, across the miniature mountain ranges of his ribs, along his flanks - he's ticklish there and giggles and twitches - to the small of his back.

Erik rubs a little lower. His thumbs brush against the fabric of the Speedos and drag a little. The Lycra is taut across his round buttocks. Erik could twitch his trunks down and part his cheeks and kiss and lick and tongue his pink, musky pucker. Erik is half hard.

He drops the bottle with a clatter and straightens up. Charles turns over and sits up. He's half hard too.

"Are you done?"

Erik frowns. "Yes, Charles, yes, I'm done."

He strides back to the mower and resolutely ignores Charles' calls of thanks. He hears a splash as Charles dives into the pool, but doesn't turn round. He can hear him splashing up and down as he tinkers with the mower engine. It doesn't take long to finish it off. He gets up and clambers abroad and starts the engine. It roars into life straight away. He smiles to himself, pleased with his work, then switches it off and on a few times just to make sure he's cracked it. He grins. He loves it when machines bend to his will, like he's got some kind of superpower or something. He gets off the mower.

At that precise moment there's even more splashing then usual. He looks across to the pool, even though he knows he shouldn't. Charles is climbing out of the water. He'd bet good money the little shit timed it precisely with Erik finishing his work. Water streams over his pale skin. He shakes his head to and fro, scattering diamonds from his hair. He looks scarcely human, like a merman transforming into his earthbound form, like a selkie without his pelt.

He steps under the outdoor shower and turns it on.

"Erik, please would you pass me my hair and body wash?"

No, no, no, no, no. Erik picks up the hair and body wash from beside the pool chair. It's an expensive brand. He hands it to Charles. Their fingers touch. Erik feels as though an abyss is opening before his feet, but he can't seem to help stumbling towards it.

Charles squirts the pale green liquid into his hands and rubs it all over himself. It foams up immediately and smells deliciously of mint. He pays particularly attention to his groin; small, stubby fingers circling over his cock and massaging it to stiffness.

Erik breaks out of his trance and goes to walk away. Charles grabs his arm. Minty foam slides down Erik's bicep. Charles' grasp is surprisingly strong.

"Would you mind terribly doing my hair? I can never do it properly myself."

Erik's right on the the edge of the cliff. He squeezes jade liquid onto Charles' head and starts massaging it into his hair. Standing so close to a virtually naked Charles he's intensely aware of how much bigger and stronger he is than him. The breadth of his shoulders compared with Charles' fragile bones. The tanned muscle that cords his arms in contrast to Charles' frail limbs. The rough callouses of his hands against the velvety smoothness of his dark hair. Oh, God, the feel of it between his fingers, wet, heavy satin.

Charles moans. His cock is erect and the rosy red tip is poking out of his trunks.

He presses himself against Erik, the wet length of his slender, bony body like a rack on which Erik is tortured. Erik's rock hard cock nudges his belly button.

"Erik," he groans, blue eyes drunk and drugged with touch and want.

With a superhuman effort Erik pushes him off and sprints away. He has no idea where he's going. Branches slash his face. He stumbles on rocks. Brambles snag his legs. When he stops he's in a distant, wild part of the grounds. He stands in the sunshine, gasping for breath. He's soaked all down his front and he smells of Charles' expensive mint hair and body wash.

He walks slowly back to his small apartment above the garage. He checks to see that Charles isn't around before he steps out of the bushes. He gets into the shower and turn it to cold and scrubs himself red raw until he can't smell a trace of mint and his hard-on has subsided. He's shivering when he gets out and he feels cold for hours afterwards even though it's a blisteringly hot day.

When he wakes up in the morning with his usual wood, he jerks off thinking of the hairiest, dirtiest, muscliest, leather-Dom he can imagine.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charles is wearing my old school uniform in this chapter . . .

Charles is on his hands and knees on Erik's narrow bed. Erik thrusts into him. Even with plenty of prep he's divinely tight. Sweat glistens on his pale skin. His shoulders are decorated with Erik's teeth marks. He gasps and moans, an obscene litany of arousal. Erik takes one hand off his bony hip, twists his fingers into his silky hair and pushes down. Charles collapses face first into the pillow. Erik ups the pace, relentless, merciless, punching howls from Charles' pretty, red mouth. He's close, so close.

The door bursts open. Police officers pour into the room, guns drawn, shouting. They pull Erik off Charles, throw him on the floor and start kicking him. He can hear Charles screaming his name.

Erik sits bolt upright in bed, drenched in cold sweat. He staggers into the bathroom and splashes cold water in his face. Logically he knows he can't control his dreams, but he still feels guilty. It's early, but he knows he won't get to sleep again. He washes and dresses, brews some coffee and munches on some toast. He wanders down to the garage and gets a good couple of hours of work in before a boyish voice interrupts him.

"Good morning, Erik. And it is a good morning too, fresher than yesterday, not so oppressive. I think the overnight rain helped."

Erik sighs and turns. Charles is standing at the entrance to the garage wearing pyjama-type pants with X-Men characters all over them and a teeshirt with "Magneto was Right" printed on it. What does that even mean?

"Just stop, Charles."

He opens his eyes wide.

"But I'm just discussing the weather, Erik."

Erik walks over and stands right in front of him. This close he looms over the boy.

"Charles, you're killing me with this. You need to stop. You're driving me crazy. Don't you understand that if I gave in, if I fucked you, I wouldn't be able to live with myself? I wouldn't be able to look at myself in the mirror? Never mind that it's illegal, it's wrong. A thirty three year old guy fucking a fifteen year old boy - and don't say you're almost sixteen - is fucked up. The power dynamic is so skewed towards the older man it's just wrong, wrong, wrong."

Charles stares at him. Conflicting emotions flicker over his expressive face.

"I'm . . . I'm sorry. I didn't realise. I guess, well, Janos, Mr Quested didn't have a problem with it, nor did the gardener or a certain friend's father, so I . . . I thought you'd be the same."

"I'm not the same, Charles. They're all abusive assholes. They knew what they were doing was wrong and they did it anyway. I'd fucking shoot myself in the head if I was like that."

Charles bites his plump, red lower lip. Erik quickly looks away.

"OK, I'll stop," he says in a tiny voice.

"Thank you, Charles," says Erik gently.

"Can we . . . can we still be friends? I know I've got Raven and a couple of good friends at school, but it would be nice to have an adult friend, you know, someone with a bit of perspective."

Erik smiles. "Yes, yes we can be friends."

Charles' bright smile dawns, not flirty or filthy, just happy. He hops up onto Erik's workbench.

"OK, so I need to bring you up to speed with my social life."

Erik cleans and polishes the Mercedes-Maybach S600 Sedan while Charles chatters away. He pops in at least once a day from then on. Erik learns that Charles plans to study genetics at Columbia and will be going to college a year early.

"It's a fascinating subject, Erik. Our genes make us what we are. There are so many opportunities for understanding and treating disease, for furthering our knowledge of ourselves at the most fundamental level."

Then he goes off into a riff on genetics where Erik understands one word in ten. He doesn't mind. He likes hearing Charles talk. That absurdly posh voice, all rounded vowels and a mix of haughty drawl and clipped precision. Charles had spent most of his childhood in England due to Brian Xavier's business interests. When he'd come back to America he'd kept the accent because it made him stand out from his peers. He'd been teased a bit, but it was worth it to be different, to be special.

He tells Erik all about school. His favourite subjects - the sciences - and his least favourite - art and music. He tells him about his friends. Hank is a gangly, bespectacled nerd - "He's even cleverer than me!" - whose parents are very strict and completely focused on their son achieving to the max. Then there's Emma. Erik's met her a couple of times. She comes from a similar background to Charles, old money and lots of it. Erik thought she came across as a bitch, but he kind of likes her. She has a ballsyness about her he admires and she's been a good friend to Charles.

"Her dad is an absolute arsehole. When Christian, her brother, was younger, he sent him to this gay conversion camp, you know, where they try to turn sinful homos into holy heteros. He got out by pretending it had worked, that he was a born again straight. It's kind of ironic really since, remember the friend's dad I said I'd slept with? Well, that was Frost Sr."

Erik clenches his fist. Something snaps. Charles stares.

"I think you've broken that."

Erik looks down at the windscreen wiper in his hand. Yep, that was broken alright.

"It's OK, I've got a spare."

Raven drops by every now and then. She's a wild, impulsive, hilarious child, more streetwise than any thirteen year old should be. She's a distant relative, not a Xavier or a Marko. There was some scandal about her parents - drugs and criminality - and somehow she'd ended up with Sharon. Raven changes her look constantly. Once she turns up in a scarlet wig, with blue eyeshadow, blue blusher, blue lipstick and gold contacts. Charles hugs her and tells her she looks beautiful and rolls his eyes at Erik over her shoulder.

She turns up before Charles - he's a late riser - one day.

"I'm glad you're just his friend, that you didn't give in to him and, you know, do it. Charles thought he was taking advantage of Mr Quested, but I knew it was the other way round. For a genius, he sure can be stupid."

"I guess even the brightest of us is stupid sometimes."

Raven shakes her head imperiously.

"Not me, I'm savvy."

Erik laughs. "Yes, yes you are, Raven."

Charles turns up and they drop the subject.

* * *

It's Charles' sixteenth in a couple of days.

"Emma is throwing me this massive sweet sixteen at her house. It's going to be epic."

"Why don't you have the party here?"

Charles' expression hardens.

"Kurt said he didn't want his house getting messed up. His house! The house my great-grandfather built. The house four generations of Xaviers have lived in. And he calls it his."

Charles doesn't talk much about his stepfather or stepbrother or mother. He's let slip little bits and pieces though and Raven tells Erik more. Sharon, his mother, seems completely indifferent to her son. She's fonder of Raven if anything. Kurt tears him down verbally and is occasionally free with his fists. Cain's the worst though. He's a budding sadist who loves to torment Charles. Luckily he's away at military college most of the time.

"It's going to be fancy dress. I've already decided what I'm going to wear."

"What?"

Charles laughs and wags his finger at Erik.

"No, no, you'll have to wait and see like everyone else. Will you drive me to the party?"

"Of course, it's my job, isn't it?"

Charles pouts. "You'd drive me anyway, even if it wasn't your job, coz you're my friend."

"No, Charles, I'd just drive you out to the middle of nowhere and dump you like an unwanted puppy."

"Erik!" shrieks Charies, scandalised.

He smacks Erik's arm. He's disastrously engaging like this, when he's just being himself.

"If you're planning on having sex at this party, and knowing you, you are, make sure they're the same age as you and use protection."

Charles rolls his eyes.

"Yes, grandpa."

"I'm serious, you mustn't risk your health."

Charles expression softens.

"OK, Erik, I promise."

"Good boy."

"I'm not a dog, Lehnsherr," he says, sounding like European royalty.

"No, you're a puppy. A black lab, with clumsy paws, dumb, but endearing."

Charles throws a dirty rag at him. Erik retaliates by splashing him with the hose. He yelps and tries to grab the hose from Erik. They wrestle for control. Charles falls against him. They still. Erik steps back, breathing heavily. Charles struggles for calm.

"Bugger! Why aren't I two years older? Or you a million years younger?"

Erik grins. "I'm not quite that old."

"Yes you are, you're a dinosaur."

"Hmm, I can see myself as one of those fast, scary, carnivorous ones."

"No, you're a great, big, plodding plant eater. The kind with two brains, one in their arse, both of them teeny tiny."

"Fuck off, you little dip-shit."

Charles dances round the garage making rude gestures at Erik and flinging ever more inventive insults at him. Erik loves him like this, a complicated love that is part fatherly and part very much not.

The day of Charles' birthday dawns. Charles prances into the garage surprisingly early. Erik gives him a card that says "Now I Am Six" and comes with a badge. Charles proudly pins it to his tee. He gives him his present. He made it himself. He bought a couple of metal fastenings from a craft shop and wove seven strands of leather into a plait to form a bracelet. Charles clips it on his wrist. He gazes at it. His eyes are very bright.

"I love it, Erik, it's the best present ever."

He hugs Erik and since it's his birthday, Erik allows it. He's warm and soft and bony and smells delicious. His dark waves tickle Erik's nose. Erik gently disengages. Raven races in. She's bought Charles some genetics text he's been going on about for months. Charles shrieks and hugs her and she grabs Erik and pulls him into a group hug.

Sharon bought him a fountain pen.

"It's actually rather nice, a Montblanc. It writes beautifully."

Kurt bought him a monogrammed Ralph Lauren shirt.

"I mean, urgh. Firstly, Ralph Lauren. I hate Ralph Lauren, it's so obvious, such a cliché. Secondly, monogrammed? Monogrammed? Who am I, Donald Trump?"

"I'll take the shirt if you don't want it," says Erik.

Charles give him an appraising look.

"Oh, darling, with those shoulders you'd split it clean in two. Hmm, now that's a lovely image."

Raven makes a face of utter disgust.

"Eww, shut up, Charles, you're so gross, you're grossing out Erik."

Erik makes a grossed out face. The two children laugh helplessly.

"Anyway, Sharon wants you back at the house."

"Well, there's a first time for everything," mutters Charles.

"Bye, Erik," calls Raven.

"Bye, Raven."

Charles leans close.

"Your present's still the best. No matter what anyone else gets me, it'll always be the best."

He runs off. Erik gazes after him. He doesn't see him again until seven thirty that evening, when he drives round to the back door - still ten times more imposing than most people's front doors - to pick him up and take him to the party. Raven bounces out of the house and trots over to the car. Erik puts his window down.

"OMG, Erik! Just you wait till you see Charles. He looks so funny. It's the best joke ever."

The door opens. Charles steps out. He does not look funny. He looks obscene. Erotic. Painfully desirable. He's wearing a crisp, white shirt with a green and red, diagonally striped tie at half mast, a pleated skirt in dark green so short it barely covers his ass, fishnet stockings supported by black garters and sky-high, shiny, black stilettos. He walks towards the car. He doesn't stumble. He moves gracefully, like he's been walking in high heels his whole life.

As he gets closer, Erik can see that he's beautifully made up, not like a drag-queen or a guy putting on makeup for a joke, but like a woman who really knows how to bring out her best features. His eyes are outlined in black and subtly shadowed, the eyelashes lengthened and darkened with mascara. His cheeks are tinted a delicate pink. His red lips glisten with a slick of gloss.

"Isn't he hilarious?" giggles Raven.

"Hilarious," replies Erik, voice steady because he's concentrating so hard on keeping it even.

Charles climbs into the passenger seat. Erik gets a flash of frilly, white knickers. Raven leans through the window to kiss his cheek.

"Careful, darling, don't ruin my makeup."

Raven squeals with laughter. Erik closes the windows. He drives off, Raven running along behind and waving. Charles waves back. She disappears from view.

"So, what do you think? How do I look?"

Erik should say something funny. He should keep things light.

"You look beautiful."

"Oh."

Out of the corner of his eye, Erik can see that Charles looks almost shy. He puts his small hand on Erik's tanned, muscular forearm. His nails are painted shell pink.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, now take your hand away."

Charles shy smile morphs into a filthy one. He drops his hand to Erik's thigh. The pressure of his fingers is light, yet immense.

"Take your hand away, Charles, or so help me I'll crash this fucking car."

Charles gives Erik's thigh a squeeze. Erik swerves violently. Charles snatches his hand away.

"Jeez, Erik, no need to kill us both."

Erik says nothing.

As they get closer to Emma's house, he says:

"You're one hundred percent going to get laid in that outfit, so I hope you've brought protection."

"Yes, grandpa Erik."

He pulls a three pack of condoms and a tube of lube from a pocket hidden among the pleats of his shirt. They pull up outside the Frost mansion.

"Don't drink too much and if you're going to do drugs make sure you trust whoever gives them to you."

Charles rolls his immaculately made-up eyes.

"You are such a kill joy."

He puts his hand on Erik's knee.

"I don't have to go in. We could drive down the road, park up in a secluded spot and use up these condoms."

He rubs circles on Erik's kneecap then walks his fingers up Erik's thigh. His fingertips brush Erik's cock through his pants. Erik gently but firmly removes Charles' hand.

"Enjoy your party. Don't do anything too stupid. What am I saying? You're sixteen, of course you're going to do something stupid."

Charles sighs, them smiles and waves his wrist in Erik's face. He's wearing Erik's bracelet.

"If I'm tempted to do anything too idiotic, I'll look at this and remember you."

Fuck, that little heartbreaker.

Charles gets out of the car, wiggles his fingers at Erik and tiptoes down the path in his high heels. Emma appears in the doorway and welcomes him with open arms. She's dressed as Wonder Woman, but her outfit is entirely white. That's her thing, wearing all white. Erik would be willing to bet his pay check that the stones sparkling round her neck and on her ears and at her wrists aren't Diamonique. And she's sixteen years old. Fucking rich people.

Erik parks a little way away from the other drivers. He could go back to the Xavier mansion and wait to be called, but he'd rather stay near Charles. He listens to his music. The Goldberg Variations, Murray Perahia's version. His mama got him hooked on classical music when he was a little boy. It wasn't until he moved to America that he realised someone like him wasn't supposed to like that kind of music. Well, fuck that.

After a while he needs to stretch his legs. It's dark now. He walks round the side of the house into the garden. Light streams from every window, music blares out, he can hear shouting and laughter and screaming and the sound of things breaking. Fairly typical teenage party then. The garden is beautiful in shades of grey under a gibbous moon, with occasional bursts of colour where it's illuminated. The vivid green of a tree fern. Scarlet roses. The purple of a wisteria twining over a balustrade.

Erik stands in the deep shade of a clipped yew tree and looks back at the house. Teenagers are scattered over the terrace, most of them in pairs and making out. A door opens and two more join them. One is an extremely handsome, blond haired, blue eyed, all American boy, tall and athletic. The other is Charles. He's lost his tie and his fishnets are torn, but he's still in his stilettos. They step down from the brightly lit terrace and sit on a bench under a shady arbour. Charles straddles the other boy's thighs and they kiss.

Erik is transfixed. He can't tear his eyes away from the two boys. The blonde has his hands clamped to Charles' arse. Charles twists his fingers in the other's hair. There are tongues and spit and licking. Charles slides down the blonde's legs and ends up on his knees in front of the other boy. Blondie unzips his fly and pops out his half hard cock. Charles gives a greedy little smile and latches onto it like he's starving for cock. He licks up the underside, then tongues all the way round the head. The blonde throws his head back and moans. Charles sucks on his cockhead. Every now and then he'll pull off and lavish kisses on the guy's prick. Threads of spittle link his lips and the engorged flesh.

Charles takes him deeper and starts bobbing his head. The other boy puts his hands on the back of Charles' head and mutters something. Erik thinks he hears the words "perfect little cocksucker". Charles takes him deeper still, deep throating. Blondie starts fucking Charles' face, snapping his hips and groaning. Charles' eyes water, but his lips curl in a smile.

Erik imagines it's him sitting on that bench. It's his cock that Charles is taking down his throat. It's his cock around which Charles' ruby red lips stretch in a perfect O. His hand touches Charles' cheek to feel his hard prick beneath soft skin. His hips drive his cock into Charles' warm, welcoming mouth again and again. Erik tugs his prick out of his trousers, spits in his hand and frantically jerks off. The blonde comes, obscenities spurting from his mouth as his come spurts down Charles' throat and, as Charles pulls back, over his lips and chin.

The other boy recovers from his orgasm and pulls Charles into his lap. He tugs Charles' lacy white panties down to his knees and shoves his hand up his skirt. Charles makes a desperate noise. Erik keeps getting glimpses of the blonde's tanned fingers on Charles' bright red cock. Charles kicks his feet and one of his high heeled shoes falls off. The sole is red. Erik tightens his grip and works his cock like he's trying to punish himself. Charles cries out and spills pale come over blondie's fingers. Erik bites down a cry and shoots his load over his hand.

Charles staggers off the other boy's lap and pulls up his panties, giving Erik a tantalising glimpse of his lovely, pale ass. Erik leans against the tree. He feels totally wrung out and consumed with jealousy. Charles retrieves his fallen shoe and the two boys walk back into the house hand in hand. Erik wipes his hands on the grass and uses a fallen leaf to clean the worst off his cock. He walks back to the car. There are wet-wipes in the glove box so he gives himself a bit more of a clean up. He sits in silence. He feels ashamed. Jealous. Angry. Sad. Empty.

Charles appears at the front door at four a clock in the morning, just as the first hint of dawn is silvering the sky. He's surrounded by a crowd of loud, drunken teens, including a relatively sober Emma, who hug and kiss him goodbye. Blondie gives him a particularly dirty kiss. Charles pours himself into the passenger seat. His makeup is smudged and he's carrying his shoes. Erik starts the car. The teens whoop and bang on the roof. Charles leans out of the window as Erik drives off - showcasing his lace covered ass - and yells his goodbyes. He settles back in his seat and sighs.

"It was an excellent birthday party. There was a chocolate fountain and Warren fell in it."

He giggles.

"I'm a bit drunk and a bit high, but I didn't do anything too moronic. I danced till my feet hurt - How do girls cope with high heels all day? - and sang till my voice went hoarse. We all paddled in the fountain, the water fountain that is, not the chocolate one. We played Pornographic Twister and Hide and Squeak - you have to squeak when someone finds you - and Obscene Consequences, but you use your phone and tweet it. And there was a guy doing fire breathing and he taught Emma how to do it."

He yawns and stretches. His shirt rides up to reveal a narrow strip of white belly.

"There was a treasure hunt and the treasure was real treasure, like jewellery, and I found a pair of earrings."

He dangles a pair of sapphire drops in Erik's face.

"I'll have to get my ears pierced, that or give them to Raven. There was a troupe of acrobats and they did all kinds of amazing things, things you wouldn't think were physically possible, and they had unicycles and Christian tried to ride one and smashed into the Frost's antique glass collection - I think they might have had some Lalique, though not anymore - and there was broken glass everywhere. It looked a bit like a winter wonderland, all those glittering fragments of crystal."

He laughs.

"I had a great birthday. There was champagne and caviar - the good stuff, not the rubbish you usually get - and they were going to chuck me in the pool but it had been drained for maintenance, so they dunked me in the big jacuzzi bath instead. Emma tumble-dried my clothes afterwards and let me wear her vicuña wrap while I waited. It's the softest thing ever, I've got to get one."

He yawns again.

"I'll have to make sure to tell Raven everything. Well, not quite everything, because I was a bit naughty. I've only got one condom left. You'd have been proud of me."

Erik clenches his hands on the steering wheel. Charles hadn't used a condom when he'd sucked that boy off, so he'd had sex at least twice more.

"So, I had a lovely time. I hope you weren't too bored?"

Erik shakes his head.

"Good. What did you get up to?"

Erik shrugs.

"You're very quiet. Are you all right?"

Erik nods. Charles looks concerned.

"Are you sure?"

"Tired," manages Erik.

Charles looks guilt stricken.

"And I kept you waiting for ages. I'd have come out sooner if I'd realised."

"It's alright, Charles. It's your birthday. I don't have anything in particular I have to do tomorrow, I can sleep late."

He gives a relieved sign.

"Oh, good. I'm going to sleep till four in the afternoon, that's if Raven lets me."

They pull up at the back door of the Xavier house. Charles puts his shoes on because the drive is gravel. They get out of the car and he immediately falls over.

"Oops! I'm a bit more drunk than I thought."

He takes his shoes off.

"Ow! Fuck! Shit! Ow!"

Erik shushes him. He pouts.

"Well, I'm sorry, but this gravel's agony. I don't suppose you'd carry me, would you?"

He gives Erik his pleading eyes.

This is the stupidest idea ever, but somehow Erik finds himself sweeping Charles off his feet. He's surprisingly light. Charles clasps his small, slightly chilly hands round Erik's neck. He smells of alcohol and sweat, with a hint of sex. He feels fragile in Erik's arms. He carries him to the house in silence. Charles gazes up at him with those fathomless eyes. They reach the door. Erik could put him down now, but he doesn't. Charles punches the entry code into the keypad and Erik carries him in.

"I feel a bit unsteady on my feet, Erik. Would you mind awfully carrying me upstairs?"

Erik carries him up the broad, sweeping staircase in silence. Charles takes one hand off Erik's neck to open his bedroom door. Erik carries him into the bedroom.

"On the bed, if you don't mind."

Erik lowers him to the bed, but instead of letting go, Charles clings onto him, Erik overbalances and he lands on top of him. He feels perfect under Erik. Exactly the right size and shape to fit into the curves and angles of Erik's body. Erik pushes up on his elbows. Charles looks up at him with the softest, sweetest smile he's ever seen.

"Fuck me, Erik, please, fuck me. I want to do it with someone who cares for me, someone who likes me. Please, Erik, please."

He grabs Erik's hand and directs it under his skirt and onto his cock. The hardness of his prick under the delicate, lacy frills of his panties is divine. It would be so easy to fuck him. Sixteen is legal in a lot of countries and it's not like he's a virgin. He's already had sex multiple times tonight. He's fucked guys older than Erik.

And that's exactly why Erik can't fuck him. He can't be just another one of those guys who sees Charles as a pretty piece of jailbait ass. He cares for Charles. He doesn't know if it's love, but he knows he wants Charles to be happy and he hates it when he's sad. Charles is beautiful, but he's more than that, more even than his brilliance. He loves his sister and he loves his friends, poor, nerdy Hank and difficult, prickly Emma. He's kind, gentle and funny. He's arrogant, stubborn and brave.

Charles' lips meet his. Erik allows himself this. He allows himself one kiss. He slides his tongue into Charles' mouth. He tastes of alcohol, spit, something pepperminty, probably a breath-mint, and the merest hint of come. He licks inside Charles' mouth, curling and swirling his tongue, savouring his taste, his uniqueness.

He disengages and sits up. Charles looks bewildered. Erik stands and walks quickly to the door and down the stairs. He hears Charles stumble to his feet behind him.

"Erik."

It's not a shout or a cry. It's almost a whisper. He looks up. Charles is standing at the top of the stairs. His stockings are in rags. His skirt is askew. His shirt is half undone and off one shoulder. Streaks of black trickle down from his eyes. He's crying.

Erik turns and walks away. He lies awake all night. He hands in his notice first thing in the morning.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for brief recollection of non-con.
> 
> Warning for violence at the end of the chapter after the three asterisks ( * * * )

Charles comes to see him the next day. He looks terrible. His pale skin is verging on translucent. There are great, dark shadows under his eyes.

"You handed in your notice."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"You know why."

He takes two steps towards him. Erik takes two steps back.

"I promise I won't come on to you anymore. I promise I can just be friends."

Erik shakes his head.

"You've already promised. Twice. And broken those promises."

Charles' face twists in pain. He looks like the child he is.

"But if you go I won't have anyone."

"You'll still have Raven and Emma and Hank."

"It's not the same. They're not the same. I want you."

"And I want you, but if I'm to hang on to the shreds of my self respect, that can't be."

His brow furrows. His tragic mouth turns down.

"But you're my friend."

"Yes, and it's precisely because I'm your friend that I'm leaving."

Charles moves towards him again. Erik puts the workbench between them. Charles looks poised between tears and rage. Rage wins out.

"You're a fucking hypocrite. You're not my friend. If you were my friend you'd stay. You come over all, "you're too young, it's wrong, it's abusive," but you're just scared. You want to fuck me, but you're terrified of getting caught. You fucking coward! I hate you, I fucking hate you!"

He tears off Erik's bracelet, throws it in his face and storms out. Erik picks the bracelet up and presses it to his lips. It smells of Charles. His mint body wash. His sweat. He kisses the inside of the plait, where it rested against Charles' pulse and tucks it in his pocket.

Charles avoids him from then on. On the rare occasion Erik has to drive him someplace, he sits silently in the back, staring out of the window. When Erik opens the door for him he says "thank you" in a flat, dead voice. Erik wants to just up and go immediately, but he needs that final month's pay.

Raven still comes to see him.

"How come you're not friends anymore?"

"I'm still his friend."

She cocks her head on one side.

"So, how come he says he hates you?"

Erik looks at her, sitting on his workbench, swinging her legs. He figures he owes her the truth.

"He can't stop trying to seduce me and I'm afraid I'm going to give in."

"Fuck. I thought it was something like that."

"Don't say fuck."

"You just did."

"I'm thirty-three, you're thirteen."

"I'm thirteen going on thirty-three."

He laughs, the first time he's laughed in a while.

She frowns. "I wish you and Charles could still be friends. I wish you could stay."

"I wish that too, Raven."

She hops off the workbench and gives him a hug. She frowns even more deeply.

"And Cain's coming home for a few weeks so everything's fucked."

"Language."

"Everything's mother-fucked?"

He laughs again.

"You're a terrible child."

She smiles. "Yep, l sure am. Bye, Erik."

"Bye, Raven."

Cain Marko returns home and Erik ferries him between the houses of various friends. He's taller than Erik and overly muscular. He's loud and talks trash about women and fags and his father and Charles. Erik clenches his teeth and tightens his hands on the steering wheel when Cain boasts to a friend about "slapping the little faggot around and showing him who's boss."

The weeks pass and he'll be leaving in a few days. He saw Charles a couple of times today and both times he looked tense and strained. He wouldn't even look at Erik. He sits on his small, lumpy sofa and drinks cheap scotch and tries not to think of pale skin and dark hair and blue eyes and red lips. The rain's pouring down outside. He can hear it drumming on the roof and dashing against the windows. He's just on the point of getting up and falling into his bed, which is two strides away, when there's a knock at his door. What the fuck? They can't expect him to drive someone tonight. He's not sober enough for a start and he's on his own time. Why didn't they use the internal phone?

He gets up and opens the door. It's Charles. Erik is just about to summon every ounce of willpower he possesses and send him away when the light catches his face. His lip is split and he has the beginnings of a black eye.

"What the fuck?"

"Please don't send me away, Erik, please don't send me away."

He's soaked and shaking and looks desperate. Erik's pulls him inside. He wants to know who did this so he can fuck them up, but first things first, he needs to get Charles dry and treat his hurts. Erik ushers him into the tiny bathroom.

"There are clean towels in the cupboard. Dry yourself off and I'll get you some clothes."

He goes to pull the door to.

"Don't close the door, don't close the door," cries Charies, wild and panicked.

"OK, baby, OK. I'll leave it open a tad."

Fuck, someone needs to bleed for this.

He gets clean sweats and socks and boxers and passes them to Charies, averting his eyes from glimpses of creamy flesh. He puts the kettle on and makes a pot of loose leaf tea. Charles doesn't like coffee and he thinks teabags are "the sweepings from the factory floor". He comes out of the bathroom in Erik's sweats. He's had to roll up the sleeves and pants. His hair is still a little damp. Erik gently steers him to the sofa.

"You sit here, baby, while I see to your face. Jeez, you're freezing."

"I walked around in the rain for a while." His voice shakes.

Erik drags over his small space heater and sets it to max. He gets his first aid kit and kneels in front of Charles.

"Is it OK if I touch you?"

Charles nods.

"If I do anything that scares you, you just shout out, OK?"

He fixes those huge blue eyes - one surrounded by swelling flesh and rapidly darkening bruises - on Erik and says:

"I trust you, Erik."

Something huge and complicated unfolds in Erik's chest. He dabs antiseptic on the cut lip - Charles doesn't flinch - then closes it with a couple of steristrips. He's probably going to end up with a small scar. The rage Erik feels, and forcefully suppresses, is triggered by the damage done to something perfect. He smoothes a little arnica onto the burgeoning black eye, gets a pack of peas from the freezer, wraps it in a towel and holds it to the swollen skin. Charles takes it from him.

Erik sits beside him on the sofa. Charles leans on his chest and Erik wraps his arms round his bony shoulders. He still feels cold, so Erik tugs the throw around him and rubs his palms over his back and sides. Gradually he warms up. He drops the peas on the floor and burrows into Erik like a cat. Erik holds him and rocks him and hums the songs his mother used to sing to him when he was a child. He doesn't realise Charles is crying until he feels dampness on his teeshirt. Charles cries silently, without sniffing or gasping, soaking Erik's tee with his tears and a little snot. He cries for a long time.

When he's finally done, Erik tries to get up to snag some tissue from the bathroom, but Charles won't let go of him. Erik pulls up the hem of his tee and Charles dries his eyes and blows his nose on the material. He snuggles into Erik again, then makes a discontented sound.

"Your teeshirt is all wet and yucky."

"And whose fault is that?"

He pulls off his tee and Charles snuggles into his bare chest. His cheek feels feather soft against Erik's skin.

"Mmm, much nicer."

"Are you going to tell me what happened?"

"Do I have to?"

"No, it's totally up to you."

He wants to give Charles some sense of control and agency. Small fingers tap against his back in a dance of hesitation, then they still.

"I think I'd like, no, not like, need to tell you. You're the only person I can tell."

Erik waits patiently and strokes his silky hair.

"It was Cain. He cornered me in one of the attics. I'd gone there to get away from him and his dissertation on how disgusting fags are and how I was the most disgusting one of all. He said . . . he said that all faggots love cock-sucking and a queer's favourite dick was a straight guy's dick and he was going to give me what I wanted. He tried to make me blow him. I fought, but he's a lot bigger and stronger than me. He forced his rancid cock into my mouth and I bit him, I bit him really hard. He punched me in the face, but I'd really hurt him so I managed to get away. Kurt had to have one of the staff take him to hospital. Cain said he'd caught it in his zip."

Charles laughs. It's not a happy laugh. Erik is so enraged it's like a white-hot wave flooding through him. He breathes deeply and fights for calm. No, it's no good, serenity is unachievable.

"Just say the word and I'll kill him for you."

Charles looks up, his eyes widen and he digs his fingers into Erik's bare back.

"You're serious."

A statement, not a question. For a moment he looks tempted, then he shakes his head.

"No, much as I'd love Cain to be dead, I'd hate even more for you to end up in prison, so no."

"I could make it look like an accident."

He laughs, sounding much more like his usual self.

"Erik, no."

"Whatever you say, boss."

"So respectful, whatever's come over you?"

"Hey, my mama taught me excellent manners, I just don't use them very often."

"Talk to me about her, I love hearing about Edie."

Erik's already told Charles a little about his mama, how he's trying to persuade her to leave Germany for America, how she's the best mama in the world, loving Erik even when he was a troubled and troublesome teenager. He tells him about her discovering his gay porn stash. About her epic struggles with Mrs Silbermann for control of the synagogue cleaning rota. Her beautiful garden, that is getting a bit too much for her to manage. Her adoption of all the neighbourhood cats and kids.

Charles' breathing slows and his pulse calms. Erik's rage simmers below the surface, magma waiting to explode, but he can contain it for now. He rubs circles on Charles' back. Charles' breath is hot on his bare chest.

"Can I stay here tonight?"

"Of course, baby. You can have the bed, I'll take the sofa. Your tea's gotten cold. Would you like me to make you some more?"

He brews more tea while Charles watches from the sofa. Erik brings it over and Charles latches onto him as soon as he sits down. Erik pours the tea. Charles adds the milk. No sugar, "because I'm sweet enough". Erik snorts. Charles sips at his tea, making appreciative lip-smacking noises. Erik pets his hair and back and flanks and shoulders. He has two cups, then yawns massively.

"Bed for you I think," says Erik.

"You can't imagine how much I've longed to hear you say those words," says Charles with an evil grin.

"Hah, fucking, hah. You should do your own stand-up show."

"I am hilarious, aren't I? I'd be wasted on the stand-up circuit. They couldn't appreciate my level of sophistication."

"Your level of bullshit, you mean."

Charles sticks out his tongue, then yawns again. Erik gets him a teeshirt to wear in bed, the sweats would be too hot. Charles brushes his teeth using some toothpaste on his finger as Erik doesn't have a spare toothbrush. Charles pees - all that tea - then clambers into bed. Erik tucks him in.

"No kiss goodnight?" he says, lips curling in a filthy grin. Then he winces as the cut stretches.

Erik has never wanted to kill anyone so much in all his life as Cain Marko.

"You can have a kiss goodnight," he says.

He bends and brushes his lips across Charles' brow as softly as a settling butterfly. Charles puts his palm to Erik's cheek.

"You're a good man, Erik Lehnsherr."

"You're a good man too, Charles Xavier."

Erik kisses his hair - it smells of expensive shampoo and the cheap detergent Erik uses on his towels - and switches off the lights. He pulls off his jeans so he's just in his boxers, wraps himself in the throw and uses a sofa cushion as his pillow. He lies there for hours, listening to Charles shift uneasily in the bed, then listening to his breathing becoming slow and regular as he falls asleep. He tries not to think of all the ways he could hurt Cain Marko.

He's been asleep for a couple of hours when he's woken by sounds of distress. Charles is crying out in his sleep, a litany of "no, no, no, no, no", and thrashing around. Erik gets up and sits on the edge of the bed.

"Wake up, baby, wake up, Charles. You're dreaming, it's just a dream. You're safe, I'm here and I won't let anyone hurt you. You're safe, Charles, you're with me."

Charles slowly surfaces from his nightmare. He clings to Erik like a frightened child. After a lot of hugging and petting and soothing words, he calms down. Erik goes to get up.

"No, no, no, don't leave me, please don't leave me, stay, Erik, stay."

He's terrified.

"OK, Charles, I'll stay, I'll stay right here beside you."

Erik lies down on the bed, on top of the covers. Charles clutches him like he's the only solid thing in a disintegrating world. As dawn peers through the thin, cheap curtains, Charles falls asleep. Erik follows about half an hour later.

When he wakes the morning light is making a Dutch interior of the small room. Somehow he's ended up under the covers and they're spooning. Erik is the small spoon. Charles' body is pressed up against him; his lips on Erik's shoulder blades, his belly curving with Erik's spine, his thighs glued to the backs of Erik's legs, his small feet tangled with Erik's ankles. He's hot and sweaty and his morning wood is nestling against Erik's right buttock.

Erik allows himself to dream. Charles is in his early twenties. He and Erik have been together for a couple of years. They'd spent the night making love. They'd started with Charles sucking him off with that perfect mouth. Erik had returned the favour. Then they'd rutted up against each other, cock sliding alongside cock, until they'd spurted over each other's bellies. They'd finished with Charles on his back, ankles on Erik's shoulders, next to his ears, Erik pushing into him slow and leisurely, like he had all the time in the world. He'd teased Charles, sometimes slowing right down, sometimes stopping, hitting his prostate with every stroke, then deliberately missing it. Charles had begged and pleaded, then cursed and ordered Erik to get on with it, imperious and demanding. And Erik had obeyed because, when you come down to it, he's Charles' slave. They'd come with each other's names on their lips.

He lets his pathetic fantasy expand. They've got an apartment together. Erik has a driving job he enjoys. Charles is engaged in very important genetic research. Edie has finally agreed to come to America. She's coming over today for Sunday lunch. Erik will cook her favourites and Charles will make the apartment beautiful with flowers. Edie loves him like a second son and Charles adores her. He finally has the mother he deserves.

Charles shifts and makes waking up noises. Erik's ridiculous dream dissipates in the morning sunshine. He turns over. Charles' shiner is truly impressive and the swelling has closed his eye.

"How are you feeling?"

"My head hurts a bit."

Erik fetches Tylenol and water and watches Charles glug it down. He gets back into bed with him and hugs him close, ignoring the fact that they're both half hard. Charles ignores it too, thank god. He drops off to sleep again and Erik watches him and listens to his soft snores. He feels like a creepy stalker, but he can't quite stop himself. Charles wakes up again in about two hours.

"Breakfast, baby?"

"In bed, please."

Erik laughs. "You spoilt brat."

Charles grins. "Bring me breakfast, peasant."

Erik cuffs him very lightly round the head, on the undamaged side.

"You have a choice of cereal, cereal or cereal."

"Hmm, cereal I think."

"Excellent choice."

Erik gets him his cereal and he sits up in bed to eat it. He winces every now and then because of his split lip. Erik mentally extracts a tooth from Cain Marko's ugly mouth for every wince. Charles has a shower in Erik's tiny bathroom and dresses in his, now dry, clothes. Erik splashes some water on himself and puts on the clothes he was wearing yesterday. They stand in the middle of the small room, looking at each other.

"I wish I could stay here forever," says Charles.

"I wish you could too, but we both know that can't happen."

Charles nods.

"You know you might want to tell your mother what happened," says Erik.

Charles' lovely face twists into a sneer.

"She couldn't give a shit about me."

"Look, I know she's an ice-cold bitch, but she's a proud ice-cold bitch. If she knew that fucker Cain was trying to stick his filthy dick into the Xavier heir, she might do something."

Charles considers. "I'll think about it. Not that Cain will be in any fit state to try anything for a while."

Erik smiles. "Yeah, well done on that."

Charles smiles back. "My only regret is not biting that nasty thing clean off."

Their smiles fade. Charles drifts closer to him. Erik edges infinitesimally forward. They're close, so close.

There's a loud knocking at the door and someone's shouting. Raven. Erik lets her in. She ignores him and hurls herself on Charles. He flinches and twists his damaged face away from her.

"Careful, Raven," snaps Erik.

"Oh. Oh! I'm sorry, Charles, but I was so scared. I knew Cain was lying and when I couldn't find you I didn't know what to do. Sharon said you'd probably gone to a friend's, so I called Emma and Hank and Moira and Sean and Alex and you weren't with anyone. And Sharon made me go to bed and I didn't mean to sleep, but I was tired so I did and when I woke up I thought of Erik and I'm so glad you're here. What happened?"

Charles' eyes briefly flick to Erik.

"Cain just beat me up a bit worse than usual and I fought back a lot more than usual. I'm sorry I didn't let you know I was OK. Erik's taken great care of me."

Raven turns to Erik. She looks grateful, but suspicious. She doesn't need to say "did you fuck him?" because Erik can read the question in her eyes. He gives his head an almost imperceptible shake. Her relief is obvious. She hugs him.

"Thanks, Erik."

"It was the least I could do."

She turns to Charles.

"You need to come back to the house, Sharon's worried."

Charles raises an eyebrow. Unfortunately it's the one over his black eye.

"Fuck," he hisses.

"Language," say Raven and Erik in perfect sync.

"Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fucking, fuck," he says in his cut-glass tones.

Raven giggles and Erik can't help laughing.

"OK, maybe Sharon isn't worried, but she did ask where you were."

Charles frowns. "Is Cain back?"

"No, Kurt wanted him to stay in hospital so they could make sure the Marko dick didn't fall off." She chuckles. "What did you do to him?"

"Oh, just kneed him so hard it drove his zip into his teeny tiny excuse for a penis."

Raven goes into peals of laughter. Erik and Charles exchange glances. He's an excellent liar. Raven hugs Erik again. Charles hugs him too, agonisingly briefly and then his sister drags him off. The tiny apartment feels very empty without them.

Cain never does come back. He goes straight off to military college. Charles tells Erik that Sharon has been asking some awkward questions, so Kurt's playing nice at the moment. He comes to see Erik every day and they talk of everything and nothing. They are very careful not to touch.

Erik's last day seems to come very suddenly. Kurt grudgingly pays him off, complaining all the while about the inconvenience of having to find another driver and mechanic. Erik packs his stuff up. He only needs a small bag. Charles and Raven are at school. He could wait till they come home, but he can't bear to drag out the agony. He walks down the driveway and along the road, heading for the nearest bus-stop. Fall has finally arrived and the trees are turning red and gold. There's a chill breeze.

He hears the sound of an engine being gunned and a car zooms past him, mounts the sidewalk and screeches to a halt. It's an Aston Martin DB9. It's Kurt's Aston Martin DB9. The driver's door opens and Charles gets out.

"Did you seriously think I'd let you sneak off, you fucking idiot, you? Besides you've got something that belongs to me."

Erik gapes like a moron. Charles extends his wrist. He's never looked more princely.

"My bracelet."

Erik digs in his bag and extracts the plaited leather bracelet. He fastens it to Charles' wrist. Charles wraps his arms round Erik's neck and goes up on tiptoes, reaching for a kiss. Erik leans back. Charles' lip is healing well and the swelling round his eye has gone down, but that whole side of his face is purple with bruises. He's the most beautiful thing Erik has ever seen. He gives in and bends his head to kiss him. Charles slips his tongue into Erik's mouth and explores at his leisure. Erik sucks his tongue the way he'd love to suck his cock. Charles pulls back and licks at Erik's lips, little, fluttering, moist touches that go straight to his cock. Charles is hard against his thigh. He's sixteen, of course he's hard. And that's the thought that makes Erik disengage.

"Do you have any idea how many laws you're breaking by driving that car?"

Tears are streaming down Charles' face, but he laughs anyway.

"Sharon will buy me out of trouble if I get caught."

They gaze at each other in silence.

"Goodbye, Charles."

"Goodbye, Erik."

Charles swipes the tears from his eyes and gets into the car. He starts it up and drives off. He sticks his arm out of the window and waves and waves and waves. Erik watches him until he's out of sight, then he turns and carries on walking. There's a lot of dust in the breeze. It makes his eyes water.

* * *

Cain staggers away from the bar. That fucking bitch had led him on and then refused to put out and when he'd tried to take what she'd been offering on a plate, they'd thrown him out, the fuckers had thrown him out! Well, he'll show them. He'll show her. Don't they know who he is, those fucking nobodies, don't they know he's Cain Marko?

Something that feels like an iron bar locks round his throat. An iron band wraps around his torso. They're arms, they're somebody's arms. He struggles, but the arm round his neck is choking him and something jabs the back of his knees and he goes down like a ton of bricks. He's pinned beneath the body of his unknown assailant. A wad of material is stuffed into his mouth and a strip of duct tape is slapped over it. He writhes and thrashes. His attacker bounces his forehead off the asphalt. His wrists are cuffed, then his ankles. The man gets off him and rolls him over. He's wearing a cheap Halloween mask. The alley behind the bar is quiet. There's no one around.

"I have a message for you from Charles Xavier."

Charles? That little faggot? What the fuck? Oh, shit, oh, no, no, no! No way the little twink's grown himself a pair and hired a hitman or some shit like that?

"If you ever touch him again, I'll kill you. If you ever talk to him again, I'll kill you. If you ever look at him again, I'll kill you. Nod if you understand."

Cain nods frantically.

"If you go to the authorities about this, I'll kill you. If you tell anyone, and I mean anyone, about this, I'll kill you. Nod if you understand."

Cain nods so hard he smacks the back of his head on the road.

"Just to make sure you understand that I'm serious . . . "

The man takes something from his pocket. It gleams in the glow from the street lights. The man presses it and a blade flicks out. Cain screams into his gag. The man kneels by his side. He draws the point of the knife over Cain's groin. Cain pisses himself. The man laughs.

"What a pathetic excuse for a human being you are. Don't worry, I'm not going to cut off your limp dick, it's tempting, but no."

He slices a section of material out of Cain's pants at the upper thigh. He starts cutting into the flesh beneath. Cain's never felt pain like it. He screams and bucks. The man stops.

"I'd advise you to keep still unless you want me to sever your femoral artery. You'd bleed out in minutes."

He starts cutting again. The pain's unbearable. Cain screams and screams until his throat is shredded, but somehow he manages to keep still. At one point he shits himself. The man stops and gets to his feet.

"There, all done. Remember what I've said and act accordingly and you'll be fine. Goodbye, Mr Marko. Pray you don't see me again. If you do, it'll make this look like a picnic."

He folds the knife, puts it in his pocket and walks away. Once his back is turned, he takes off the mask and tucks it into his coat. Cain lies in the alley in a puddle of piss, shit and blood. He throws himself around and yells, but the gag is effective. Eventually the bouncers from the bar find him. They remove the duct tape, cut the cable ties that bind his wrists and ankles, call an ambulance and let him clean himself up as best he can in the restroom of the bar.

He's pretty sure he hears one of them mutter "couldn't happen to a nicer guy".

Cain takes off his pants and boxers. He bins the boxers and rinses his pants under the tap. They're soaked, but at least he's got rid of most of the piss and shit. He gingerly dabs at his thigh. Fuck, it hurts! The cuts are deep. As he washes the blood away he realises the cuts aren't random. They form words. High on his upper thigh, right next to his cock, the man has carved:

RAPIST


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all my readers and a special thank you to FuryRed for writing the original on which this remix is based and for encouraging me to continue it.

Erik gets a call out to the opera. Someone's car has broken down and God forbid they hail a taxi or take a train or catch a bus. Warren Worthington III and guest. Erik hates the way rich people give their kids the same names as themselves, like they want them to turn out like clones or something. He gives the BMW 7 Series a quick once over. It's immaculate, as always. He gets dressed up in his uniform; the company likes him to look smart. It's really just a charcoal suit with a few vaguely military bits and pieces on the jacket. There's a cap to go with it. Truth be told Erik quite likes it. He likes not having to wear his own clothes and he secretly thinks the cap makes him look dashing, though he would never admit this to a living soul.

He sets off for the opera house. They're half way through the Ring cycle. Erik puts "Siegfried" on and flicks to the fight with Fafner. He has a problematic relationship with Wagner. On one hand Wagner was a virulent anti-Semite, on the other his music is beautiful, transcendent. For years he'd refused to listen to a single note by him, then in his late twenties he'd had an epiphany. Why shouldn't he reclaim Wagner? Why shouldn't he give the old bastard, and all the nazi motherfuckers who'd so enthusiastically embraced him, the finger? This music was his, not theirs. He likes to imagine Wagner turning in his grave at a Jewish man appropriating his music.

He sings along - badly - as Siegfried fights the dragon. He likes to imagine himself as a Jewish knight, one of the Maccabees maybe, and Fafner as a creature of metal and fire, covered in swastikas, that he slices into a million pieces.

He pulls up outside the opera house. Hordes of people are streaming out of the brightly lit building. Erik gets out of the car, puts on his cap and holds up his sign with "Worthington" written on it. People glance at him, then away. A young blonde man in a tux walks over. He's handsome in that blue eyed, blonde haired, tanned skin style that does nothing for Erik.

"Ah, you must be our ride."

"Yes, sir," says Erik.

"Charles, Charles, over here," he calls, half turning and waving.

A shorter man, also in a tux, walks briskly over. His hair is dark. His skin is pale. His eyes are the bluest thing you've ever seen. And his lips! There needs to be a whole new language invented to describe that red.

Erik drops his sign and stares and stares. The young man stops. His eyes widen. His lips part. He's a little taller than the last time Erik saw him, but not much, probably five seven max. His shoulders look strong under his tuxedo jacket. His thighs stretch the material of his pants in a way that makes you want to grab hold and squeeze. Worthington is saying something but neither of them pay any attention.

"Erik," says Charles and, oh, God, it's good to hear that cut-glass accent again.

"Charles," says Erik.

"Do you two know each other?" says Worthington.

"Yes, we do, did," says Charles.

"Oh, right, shall we go then?"

"Fuck off, Warren," says Charles, eyes still fixed on Erik.

"What?"

"Leave, go, depart, avaunt, fuck off."

Worthington looks confused and outraged.

"But, but it's my car."

"I don't care, get a taxi, get a helicopter, get a jet, just go away."

"But we're on a date."

Charles finally looks away from Erik and fixes Warren with his blue gaze.

"Warren, we're fuck buddies. This is not a date. This is me taking advantage of the fact that you had tickets to the opera. We have absolutely nothing in common but our sexual preferences and our backgrounds. I know you're fucking Christian and that model, Janos, too. I've been fucking that scary Russian guy, Azazel. It's been fun, but it's over as of now. Fuck off."

Warren looks enraged.

"You can't talk to me like that. You can't brush me off like that, you stuck-up little twink."

He grabs Charles arm. Erik is about to dive in when Charles twists, side-steps and sends Warren sprawling to the ground. Somebody's been doing some martial arts training. Erik opens the front passenger door. Charles gets in. Erik goes round to the driver's side, gets in, takes his cap off and starts the car. As he drives off, he can see Warren in his rear view mirror, gesturing and shouting. He's so furious he takes off his shoe and throws it after the car.

The car in which Charles is sitting. Charles. Sitting. In the car.

"Do you think I was a bit hard on Warren?"

Erik laughs because that's somehow so incredibly Charles.

"Maybe."

"Hmm." Charles frowns. "I'll send him a nice gift and an apology card."

Erik laughs again because it's been just over two years and this is what Charles is talking about? He turns into a quiet, tree-lined, residential street. He parks. He turns to Charles. He's still stunningly beautiful, but he looks like a young man now, not a boy. Erik has no idea what to say. He's overwhelmed by his sheer presence. The smell of his expensive cologne. The way his slightly-longer-than-is-fashionable hair is falling onto his face. The shine of his summer sky eyes. The nervous way his pink tongue darts out to lick his red lips. It's Charles. Charles.

Charles reaches over and puts his hand on Erik's cheek.

"It's you, it's really you," he whispers.

He leans in and kisses Erik. First his brow, then his eyelids, then his cheeks and finally his lips. He presses half a dozen feather light kisses to Erik's lips, then a series of delicate licks. He give Erik's upper lip a gentle nibble. He slides his tongue into Erik's mouth. It's soft and warm and wet. He tastes of spit and alcohol. His tongue writhes round Erik's like a clever, clever snake. He draws Erik's tongue into his mouth and gives it a thorough sucking.

Erik clamps his hands to Charles' ass and kisses him back, hard and demanding. God, his buttocks feel amazing, round and fleshy and muscular. Erik squeezes and digs his fingers in. Charles yelps into his mouth, then pulls back.

"Back seat," he gasps.

Instead of getting out and then back in again, they decide to struggle through the gap between the front seats. Charles kicks Erik in the head and Erik elbows him in the face. Once they're in the back, they kiss again. Erik can just see the scar that Cain gave him, slightly off-centre on his upper lip. He licks and kisses it. It feels a fraction harder than the rest of his divinely soft mouth. He kisses his throat and can't resist sucking a bruise into that creamy skin. Charles moans, shoves his hands under Erik's jacket and pulls up his shirt to clutch at Erik's back.

"Clothes, clothes," he mutters.

Erik interprets this as meaning they should come off. They both try to undress each other at once, getting in each other's way. Charles accidentally scratches Erik's cheek. Erik pops three buttons off Charles' shirt. Getting their pants off is hilarious.

"No, no, we should each do our own trousers," orders Charles, slapping Erik's hands off his zip.

Erik kneels up and promptly bangs his head on the ceiling. Charles lies back and ends up sliding off the seat onto the floor. They start laughing, both of them with their pants and underwear around their knees. They wriggle out of their clothes. Charles manages to kick Erik in the chest this time and Erik smacks his own head on the window. Finally they're naked.

Erik pauses to look at him. He's still slim, but now he's compactly muscled, his shoulders, arms and torso beautifully defined. He has a little more hair on his chest and the stripe leading down to his groin is more distinct. His cock is half hard and bright red. Erik's tends more towards purple. On one wrist he has an expensive looking watch, on the other he's got some sort of band.

"It's your bracelet," says Charles.

"My bracelet," says Erik.

He leans forward to kiss the leather plait, then reaches out and runs the tip of one finger along the top of his shoulder, down his bicep and across his chest. He rubs at a dark nipple and watches it harden.

"Oh, fuck," moans Charles.

Erik draws his finger down to the stripe of dark hair on his belly and tugs gently, then harder on the curly hairs. He reaches out to touch the head of Charles' cock. He hesitates. He's imagined this so many times. It almost feels as if it's still forbidden, still wrong. He looks into Charles' eyes.

"It's all yours, darling. I'm all yours," he says, looking very serious.

Erik strokes Charles' cock-head with his forefinger. It feels velvet soft. Charles takes a deep, shuddering breath. Erik investigates his foreskin, pulling it up and rubbing it between his fingers like a piece of fine cloth. He leans forward and gives it a lick.

"Fuck," hisses Charles.

The angle's no good so Erik slides onto the floor, kneeling on their clothes and shoes, and manhandles Charles into position, directly in front of him and sitting low in the seat. He gets his lips round Charles' cock. He tastes good, earthy and salty. Erik's never been the best at blow-jobs, but he gives it his all for Charles. He sucks like Charles had sucked that lollipop so long ago. He pulls off and gives Charles' balls some attention, scratching them with his nails, nibbling with his teeth and flicking with his tongue.

"Oh, God, Erik, yes, love it, love it, love it," groans Charles.

Erik goes back to sucking on his cock and working the shaft with his hand. He smells so good, like an animal in rut. Charles' stubby fingers are in his hair, twisting and tugging. His hips jerk. He tries to still them. Erik pulls off and says:

"It's OK, you can fuck my face, I want you to."

Charles manages to choke out, "Condom in my jacket."

"I'm clean," says Erik.

"Me too," says Charles.

"Fuck the condom then."

Charles laughs. He's red faced and gleaming with sweat and his hair is sticking to his forehead and he's perfect, perfect, perfect.

"I'd rather you fucked me," he says.

"First things first," replies Erik and goes down on him again.

Charles' hips buck up and he doesn't try to stop himself this time. He fucks Erik's face, hard enough to make his eyes stream, but not so hard as to make him retch. On impulse Erik reaches up and closes one hand round the ivory tower of Charles' throat. He tightens his fingers. Charles arches his body and chokes and moans. Erik hollows his cheeks, pinches Charles' balls and strengthens his grasp on his neck. Charles gives a strangled shriek and comes. Erik gets half of it in his mouth, bitter and a little sour, and the rest all over his face.

Charles collapses back in the seat. Erik uses a shirt to wipe his face - he's not sure whose - then gets up on the seat next to Charles, who slumps against him. Erik uses the shirt - he realises it's Charles' - to clean him up. Charles snuggles against him. Erik is achingly hard, but determined not to hurry him. Apparently Charles doesn't need to be hurried because he glances down at Erik's rock solid prick and smiles the filthiest smile Erik's ever seen.

"Is that for me, dearling?"

"All for you, baby."

"Fuck," breathes Charles, "I love it when you call me baby."

"Want me to fuck you with this, baby? Want my big, fat prick up your tight, hot ass?"

"Yes, yes, yesyesyes."

Except, no lube.

As if he's a mind reader, Charles says:

"There's lube in the inner pocket of my jacket."

Erik snags it and grabs the tube of lubricant.

"You are a good boy-scout."

"No, I'm a very bad boy-scout, very bad indeed. Give me that. And, hmm, yes, put your chauffeur's cap back on. Oh, yes, I like that, I feel like I'm fucking a soldier. Sir, yes, sir! Now watch."

Charles leans back on the seat, opens his legs wide - one foot on the parcel shelf, one between the front seats - and tilts his hips. Erik can see his hole. Charles squirts lube on his fingers and circles one round his pucker, tapping at his entrance, before finally pushing in. He breathes out, a long drawn "aaaah". Erik is transfixed, his whole attention riveted on a couple of centimetres of flesh and Charles' finger doing the best disappearing and reappearing act in the business. He's impatient and gets another finger in almost straight away.

"Take your time, baby, take your time."

"I can't, Erik, I need you in me, balls deep, buried to the hilt. Give me one of your fingers."

Erik lubes a finger up and slide it in alongside Charles'. He's all heat and pressure and so soft inside, like a burning flower bud. Erik has to grab the base of his cock to keep from coming.

"That's enough, darling."

Charles withdraws his fingers and gently pushes Erik's hand away. He manoeuvres Erik into a sitting position and straddles him. He takes Erik's cock between finger and thumb. He slides down about half way. Erik digs his fingers into his shoulder and ass. Charles' rectal muscles pulse around Erik's cock, contracting and relaxing as they adjust to his girth. Charles slides down the rest of the way and gives a little wriggle. Erik's fully sheathed in febrile, satiny flesh. Charles leans his head against Erik's shoulder and gasps against his skin. Erik runs his hands up his sides and down his back.

Charles sits up and looks at him. He drags his fingernails over Erik's chest, scratching his nipples. Erik trembles.

"Do you have any idea how good you feel inside me? There's the sting, the burn, the stretch, but best of all, the fullness. You fill me to the brim, till I can't take anymore. I'll be feeling this, feeling you, for days afterwards."

He gives Erik a closed mouthed kiss on the lips and starts moving, rotating his hips and clenching his ass.

"Oh, fuck, Charles, I've dreamed of this, dreamed of you. You feel so good, so right, just perfect, perfect my angel, my Charles."

Charles starts moving up and down, slowly at first then upping the pace. Erik rests his hands on his hips, feeling the muscles work as Charles fucks himself on Erik's prick. Charles' cock is hard again. Fuck, that kid's got one hell of a refectory period. Erik wraps one hand round it. He doesn't need to stroke him. Charles thrusts himself between Erik's fingers with every bounce on Erik's cock.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," gasps Charles.

He lets loose, frantically impaling himself on Erik, bashing his head on the roof in the process. Erik pumps his cock and Charles yells and spills over his fingers and their bellies. He keeps bouncing. Erik feels his balls tighten, then he's spurting deep inside Charles and sobbing his name again and again. They collapse against each other. Erik could happily stay like this forever, softening cock inside Charles' hole, bodies pressed together, coated in each other's sweat and come. He wraps his arms round Charles' waist and rests his head on his shoulder. Charles strokes his back and hair.

There's a knock on the window. Both of them sit bolt upright - Charles smacking his head on the ceiling yet again - and stare at each other. More knocking and a flashlight is shining through the window. Luckily it's so fogged up from their fucking that whoever's outside can't see in.

"Police, open your window."

"Just a minute, officer," yells Charles.

They scramble into their clothes.

"Open your window right now."

Erik opens the window. They've both managed to get their pants on. Charles is wearing Erik's jacket, inside-out and without a shirt. Erik has got one arm in his shirt and is still wearing his cap. The flashlight dazzles them. It's directed away and they can see a grizzled old beat-cop looking in at them.

"Had a complaint about a vehicle and occupants parked up and behaving suspiciously. Just what are you up to?"

As if it wasn't obvious.

Charles gives the officer a dazzling smile.

"My boyfriend just proposed to me," Erik goes rigid with shock, "and I'm afraid we got carried away and were celebrating, er, romantically."

They are so going to get arrested.

The cop's worn, jowly face splits in what Erik assumes is a smile.

"Me and my husband just got married, as soon as the law changed. We've been together for years, but, I tell you what, we felt like teenagers again. Congratulations."

Charles thanks him. Erik chokes out something he's not sure is human language.

"Got to move you along now, boys. Better continue the celebrations at home. Best of luck in the future."

They get out of the back seat and into the front. Charles waves goodbye to the cop as they drive off.

"I can't believe we got away with that," says Erik.

"Pfft, I knew he was gay."

"Him? The least gay looking human being on the planet?"

"I have amazing gaydar, though I think I may have given myself concussion by knocking my head on the roof."

"Never mind your concussion, what about my upholstery?"

Charles snorts and giggles and Erik laughs.

"Where to, boss?"

"I've got an apartment near Columbia."

He gives Erik directions. They don't talk much on the drive, but Erik keeps looking at Charles out of the corner of his eye and Charles keeps his hand on Erik's thigh for the whole journey. They go up to the apartment, Erik with his arm round Charles' shoulders, Charles with an arm round Erik's waist. Charles' apartment is big, eclectically furnished and messy. There are books everywhere. Charles pushes him onto the sofa, sits on his lap and kisses him tenderly. Erik feels like his heart's going to explode.

"Charles, we need to talk."

"Do we? I was thinking all our communication could be via the medium of fucking."

Erik can't help laughing, but he soon sobers.

"I know you're legal now, but you're still only eighteen - "

"Going on nineteen," interrupts Charles. "Isn't that a song from 'The Sound of Music'?"

"Stop trying to distract me. A lot of what I said about power dynamics still holds, so I'm not sure this should go any further, that's if you were thinking of it going any further."

Charles looks at him incredulously. He gets off Erik's lap and stands in front of him.

"I'm in my second year at Columbia. When I was eighteen I gained access to a fraction of my trust fund. It put me in the top ten percent of the richest people in this country. I've started getting more involved with my father's company in preparation for a seat on the board when I'm twenty-one. I'm better educated than you. I'm richer than you. I'm more powerful than you. I'm much, much better looking than you. You're right, there is a power imbalance in this relationship. You need protecting from me. So, you should give the answer to this question some serious consideration. Erik Lehnsherr, will you go out with me?"

"Charles Xavier, fuck yes."

"Language," says Charles.

* * *

Erik buys him a bag of lollipops for his nineteenth birthday. Charles makes unscrupulous use of them.


End file.
